


Completely Overrated

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-05
Updated: 2006-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 11:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Hermione is on a mission to lose her virginity.  Blaise is happy to help.





	Completely Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:  My only first-time fic to date.  Also, my pride and joy.  


* * *

"I'm telling you, Gin.  I'm going home with the next bloke to walk through that door."

Ginny Weasley raised one speculative eyebrow at her companion.

"Hermione?" she offered.

"Yeah?"

"This is mostly a gay bar, you know."

Hermione drummed her fingers on the slick fiberglass of the table.  "Oh.  Right."  Looking around briefly, she whispered, "What are we doing here again?"  Ginny nodded towards Oliver Wood, who was standing on a platform in nothing but a pair of red briefs, shaking his Quidditch-toned arse for all it was worth.  And it was worth a whole lot since Puddlemere's latest victory.

 "Mmmm, eye candy," Hermione purred, a wicked smile lifting the corners of her mouth.  "Alright then.  I'm going home with the next _straight_ bloke to walk through that door." 

 Ginny was obviously about to tell her not to hold her breath when Vincent Crabbe sauntered in, wearing hideously mismatched Muggle clothes and looking more clueless than ever.

 "Ugh," Ginny said, making a face.  "You might want to rethink your strategy." 

 "No," Hermione responded in a firm voice.  "As much as it disturbs me, Crabbe _is_ straight.  And he might be my only chance tonight."

 "Too bad.  Looks like he's with Gabrielle Delacour." 

 "You're kidding?"  Hermione craned her neck to get a better look.  "Unbelievable.  He was with Cho Chang just last week."

 "I know!"  Now Ginny was drumming her fingers on the table as well, looking pensive.  "What is it with Crabbe?  Is he hung like a centaur or something?" 

 "I hope he has something other than his style," Hermione mumbled.

 "Or his brains," Ginny added. 

 "That's it.  I'm doomed," Hermione whinged, setting her mug of butterbeer down with a heavy _thunk_.  "I'll never get rid of it.  I can't believe that Crabbe can get laid on a regular basis, and I'm stuck bar-hopping for someone desperate enough to divest a twenty-three-year-old Ministry librarian of her maidenhead."

 "Hermione, please don't use the word _maidenhead_."  Ginny wrinkled her nose.  "You know," she added, trying to offer her friend some consolation, "it's not a big deal.  In fact, I'd say sex is completely overrated." 

 Hermione was torn between horror and fascination.  "What would Harry say if he heard you talking like that?" she whispered.

 "He'd say, 'Not tonight, honey.  There's Quidditch on the WWN.'"

 A giggle left Hermione's throat before she could help it.  "Really?"

 "I'm telling you.  You're not missing much." 

 "I still think I'd like to find out for myself."

 Ginny suddenly straightened in her chair, a wicked smile lighting her face.  "Oooh, don't look now," she whispered.  "Or rather, _do_ look.  _Quickly_."

 Blaise Zabini had just strolled in, leather jacket tossed casually over his shoulder, held by long, thick fingers.  Dark, rich skin tone reflecting the red-orange of the lights on the dance floor, a smirk that said _hulloooo, ladies_ firmly in place.  He briefly canted his head down and glanced around the room before strolling—nay, _prowling_ —towards the bar.

 "Yep," Hermione nearly growled, tossing back the rest of her butterbeer.  "He'll do." 

 Ginny's gaze shot from Zabini to Hermione.  "But he's—"

 "Tall, dark and handsome, with a terrible reputation?"  Wiggling her eyebrows, Hermione decided, "You're right.  He's perfect." 

 After the initial shock wore off, Ginny simply looked scandalized.  "You're not going to just leave me here?!" she demanded.

 "Good point.  Malfoy!" Hermione yelled to a blonde head she saw bobbing in the distance, another very familiar redhead working its way down the column of his neck.  "Ginny's having some wardrobe dilemmas!  Have you got a minute?" 

 The flash of Malfoy's teeth could have put the strobe light to shame.  He swaggered over, dragging Ron Weasley by the shirtsleeve.  When he reached their table, his eyes swept first over Ginny and then over her leather-clad brother.  "Wardrobe problems, eh?" he said, gleaming once again in Ginny's direction.  "I thought you'd never ask, half-pint."

 Ginny looked murderous.  Ron looked amused, which was understandable, since "half-pint" _was_ quite a few steps up from "blood-traitor." 

 Rubbing his hands together in glee, Malfoy added, "One Weasley down, six to go."  He fixed Ginny with a pointed glare.  "Though I stand by my assertion that Potter is a lost cause."

 Hermione wasn't sticking around for Ginny's comeback. 

* * *

 Blaise sat down at the bar and lit a small, black cigar, relishing the sweet aroma that engulfed him on his first puff.  Tonight was the night.  He was looking _fine_ , he knew it, and he was determined to end his three-month stretch of celibacy. 

 "Zabini!" called Seamus Finnigan as he sauntered over with Blaise's signature drink—vodka martini, extra dry, 2 olives.

 "Finnigan," Blaise greeted him.  He smiled at the Irishman, inwardly rolling his eyes at the thought that anyone could be so enthusiastic.  Or flamingly homosexual.  "You're still tending bar in this dump?" 

 Seamus shrugged.  "Pays the bills."

 "And gets you laid," Blaise added with a chuckle. 

 "Sometimes."  Finnigan pretended to wipe down the spotless counter.  Then, with a showy flick of his wrist, he placed a glass ashtray in front of Blaise.  "I haven't seen you in awhile."

 "I've been around."  In a lower voice, he amended, "Though I think I might have worn out my welcome down at The Melting Pot." 

 "Meaning you've shagged your way through all the regulars, of course," Finnigan replied with a wink.

 Blaise rolled his cigar around between long, nimble fingers, his smile stretching into a full-blown smirk.  "You know, your subtlety is by far your best quality, Finnigan." 

 Finnigan waggled his eyebrows.  "You haven't seen what I can do with my tongue."

 "Touché."  Blaise actually laughed a bit at their banter.  He wasn't normally one for small talk, but Finnigan was there to ensure he got a healthy buzz before setting out on his true mission for the evening.  Best to stay on his good side. 

 "Still living off the trust fund, then?" Finnigan asked, a smirk of his own now playing about his lips.

 "It's the least I can do," Blaise defended himself.  "I hate to think that husbands eight and nine died in vain." 

 Finnigan shook his head, chuckling.  "Zabini," he said in a lilting voice, "you only wish you were the bastard you pretend to be."

 "Your ex-boyfriend might beg to differ," Blaise mumbled. 

 "Ouch!"  Finnigan put his hand over his heart, feigning offense.  "Play nicely now.  You really shouldn't have led Dean on like that.  You're the most vicious tease of a straight man I've ever met."

 Blaise licked his lips slowly, watching in amusement as Finnigan's eyes followed the motion.  "Thank you," he purred.  "It's a gift." 

 Finnigan growled beneath his breath and started stacking beer glasses.  "One day you'll see the error of your ways."

 " _Blaise Zabini_."

 Blaise only jumped slightly before narrowing his eyes and whispering to Finnigan, "Mmmmm, but not tonight."

 He would recognize that voice anywhere.  Bossy, firm, with a slightly musical quality that she surely would have squelched had she known what it did to men's loins.  Turning insolently on his barstool, he cocked his head to side and let his eyes travel up and down her short, curvy body. 

 "Hermione Granger."

 He kicked out the barstool next to him and raised one eyebrow.  Yep.  She'd do. 

* * *

 Right.  She could do this.  She wasn't too worried about rejection.  Blaise Zabini would allegedly shag anything with breasts.  Granted, she had a little help in that department from Fred and George's latest creation—a Wizarding form of the WonderBra, complete with expansion charms.  Those expansion charms were currently cutting her breath short, but whatever.  She was a woman on a mission.  Zabini's eyes confirmed that they had the same goal. 

 Speaking of which, he really _did_ have lovely eyes.  Like the liquid gold of a tiger's eyes, with black around the edges, framed by thick, curled eyelashes.

"Fancy meeting you here," she attempted in her huskiest voice, which might have sounded much better if she hadn't gotten choked off some of his secondhand smoke on the last syllable. 

 Taking her hint, he stubbed out his cigar, his eyes roving up and down her Wizarding WonderBra-enhanced form.  "Must be my lucky night," he smoothly replied.  Only Zabini could make such a standard greeting sound like sex.

 She giggled nervously.  ( _What the hell?_ )  And just how was she supposed to…er, proposition him?  She had no idea what to say.  She had only spoken to him once or twice in passing since their Hogwarts days. 

 Luckily, he was the first to speak.  "Still working in the Ministry library?"

 "Oh," she answered, tearing her gaze away from the full curve of his lips.  "Yeah." 

 "And how are things among…"  He stared pointedly at her chest.  "…the _stacks_?"

 "Peachy."  Was that _her_ voice that sounded so breathy?  Maybe this would be easier than she had imagined. 

 "Mmmm..." he agreed.  " _Lovely_."

 "How about you?" she inquired.  She had no idea what he did for a living.  If anything.  "Are you still—"

 "Wasting my time, money and education?" he suggested.  "Yes."

 "Ah," she replied.  This conversation was going absolutely nowhere good.  But since he had opened himself up so nicely….  "You've turned it into an art form, so I've heard." 

 "That—" he began, looking scandalised, "—is absolutely true."  He finished the statement with a wink that sent little sparks straight to her front-hook closure.

 She sighed.  And then caught herself.  The Big Question.  She could do it.  She could ask.  "And do you have plans for the evening?" 

 What a smile!  It was the kind of half-hearted, heavy-lidded expression of amusement that promised hours of things she'd only ever read about.  And then, to make it that much worse, he leaned over and placed those full lips against her ear.  "I suddenly have more plans than you can imagine."

 All right.  The boy was good. 

 "Luckily," she suggested, dusting nonexistent lint from his collar with fingers that thankfully were not shaking _too_ badly, "I have a vivid imagination."

 "Oh?" he said.  He turned his head to look her directly in the eyes.  "Do you imagine we could get out of here?" 

 Oh, that look!  She wouldn't have been surprised to discover there was some sorcery behind it.  "I imagine my place would be just fine."

 He hopped off his barstool, and leave it to Zabini to even _hop_ with utmost grace. 

 "Lead the way, Granger."

* * *

 It must have been the shortest Side-Along Apparition home in history.  But now that her nerves were starting to twinge, Hermione regretted not Apparating via the South Pole.  _Oh, god!_ she thought, _I'm really going to do this!_

 Blaise stood beside her outside her Muggle flat, leaning with one shoulder against the brick wall, arms crossed, smirking as she fumbled with the keys.  Her heart was somewhere around her small intestine.  She watched him nervously as she tried for the fifth time to insert the key into the lock.  He looked like he wasn't going to allow any further attempts without quickly taking over. 

 Tearing her eyes away from him, she looked down, only to notice….

 "Shite!" she exclaimed.  She put her hand over her mouth and leaned her forehead against the door.  "This is the wrong set of keys."  Indeed, she had grabbed her work keys on her way out. 

 "You mean we're locked out?" he purred, one eyebrow coming close to getting lost in his black curls.

 "Well…" she stalled, "…I didn't bring my wand.  So…."

 Oh, that smirk was growing by the minute.  "Then I hope you don't mind semi-public sex," he whispered.

 Before she knew what had happened, her back was flush against the door, his hands on either side of her shoulder.  "S-semi-public…" she muttered. 

 " _Sex_ ," he confirmed.  He made the word sound _exactly_ like what it meant.

 She gulped.  Surely he wasn't serious? 

 "But…but surely you've got your w—"  The word ended in a squeak as his mouth came down over hers, way too softly to be as demanding as it seemed.  The squeak became a moan when he brushed his lips over hers once, twice, three times before changing his angle and completely devouring her.

 Oh dear.  If the real thing felt anything like his tongue, she wasn't going to survive this ordeal in one piece.  With his mouth firmly pressed against her, he touched the tip of his tongue to hers, teasing.  Slipping back and forth and flicking lightly until, with a low rumble in his throat, he fully entered her mouth, making long, lazy thrusts, and—oh!  His knee dug between her thighs, and she just _couldn't help_ rubbing against him. 

 The boy's kiss clearly said, _I own you_ , and her body was beginning to roar its agreement, her nipples like diamond studs beneath the charmed padding of her bra.

 "Whoa!" she demanded, pushing him away.  He didn't go far, instead abandoning her mouth for her neck. 

 "Yes?" he whispered between nibbles.

 

" _No_ ," she answered, trying in vain to push him away once again.  Apparently, it's impossible to push someone away with one's legs clamped tightly around that person's thigh.

 Nevertheless, he pulled back to stare down at her, and now his lips were even fuller, pinker.  There was much more black around the edges of the gold in his eyes, and he was taking short puffs of breath.  "No?" he repeated.  God!  Blaise Zabini was standing outside _her_ Muggle flat, looking like he might die if she said "no" again!  It was too much to process.

 "No," she answered anyway.  "I am _not_ doing this out here." 

 A boyish smile crossed his face, and he jerked her hips away from the door, against his own, as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his wand.  Leaning his lips against her ear, he whispered, " _Alohamora_ ," every syllable sending waves of heat straight to her core.

 Instead of removing his lips, his tongue reached out and traced the shell of her ear, making her whimper helplessly.  "Well?" he hinted, the word caressing her earlobe. 

 She jumped.  "W-well w-what?"

 "The door's open.  And we're not doing this out here, or so you say."  He pulled back to look at her, his eyes heavily lidded.  "Which only leaves two options." 

 "Two options?"  Wow, she was queen of the eloquence this evening.

 He chuckled.  "We say goodbye," he whispered, his hands now lightly grazing her sides, " _or we go in_."

 So this was it.  His hands stilled, and despite the smokiness of his eyes, she could see something softer… something… _something like a man who would know exactly how to make a virgin scream_ , her brain finished.

 She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  "Do come in," she whispered. 

 The boyish smile instantaneously became a devilish one, and the journey inside was a blur of hands and lips and tongues.  He kicked the door shut behind them, leading her backwards to the hallway, his hands sliding over every curve he could find.

 And despite the utter strangeness of the situation, all Hermione could think was, " _This is perfect_."

* * *

 Blaise had no idea where he was going, and he couldn't really _see_ where he was going with their faces attached like this.  Not that he was complaining.  At all.  But he was more than ready to move things along just a bit.  The kiss outside her front door had been… not at all what he would have expected from Hermione Granger.  He wanted more. 

 The hall seemed to be a generally safe direction, although he had nothing against sex on sofas.  Or carpet.  Or against walls.  But Granger seemed like a "bed" kind of girl, and it suited him just fine, because he had often wondered what all that hair would look like against a mass of pillows.

 Pillows under her head.  Pillows under her back, arching her, giving him _just_ the right access to grind her through the mattress. 

 He groaned through their kiss.  Oh, but this was going to be good.

 But he still had no idea where he was going.  "Hermione?" he asked between nibbles.  He felt her jump a bit at the use of her given name.  "A little help here?" 

 "Oh.  Right," she mumbled.  Her hands drifted down to his belt, trembling in the most adorable way as she fumbled with the buckle.  It had obviously been awhile for her, too.

 He chuckled.  "Well, that works, too," he said.  "But actually, I was just wondering where we might find your bedroom." 

 "Oh!"  Damn, she was cute when she blushed like that.  "Sorry.  Follow me."

 Fuck, what a view!  She scurried away, glancing back over her shoulder once or twice, her arse swinging, and never mind what he thought previously.  The girl _definitely_ knew what she was doing. 

 She led him to a small but very neat room that couldn't have been more Granger-like.  Other than the bed, covered in a simple, cream-coloured duvet, the largest piece of furniture was a bookcase.  Everything was painstakingly organized.  Even the drawers of her lingerie chest were magically labeled.  He glanced curiously at the drawer that appeared to read, "Garters and Stockings."  The cross between such anal-retentiveness and such blatant sexuality inflamed him.  The girl was begging to let loose.

 "Very tidy.  Were you expecting company?" he teased her, indicating the state of the room with a wave of his arm. 

 "No!" she protested a bit too forcefully.  Blaise's eyebrows knit together.  She seemed really jumpy for a girl who had propositioned a practical stranger for a one-night stand.  "No," she repeated, her voice softer.  "I just like things to be—"

 "In order?" he suggested.  "Neat and easy?"  She was standing there practically wringing her hands.  He took her hands in his and lifted them above her head, backing her against the wall.  "I'll have to apologise in advance then," he whispered, leaving her arms stretched up as his hands moved down, slowly approaching her shirttail.  "Because there's not going to be anything _neat_ or _easy_ about what I'm going to do you tonight." 

 He jerked her jumper over her head in one swift motion and tossed it aside.  She gasped, her eyes growing as wide as Galleons, and immediately his lips went to her collarbone, nibbling their way down to her cleavage, and _damn_.  That was some serious cleavage.

 She whimpered as he cupped her breasts, thumbs fondling her nipples through the… _padded?_ … fabric.  _Does she even_ have _nipples?_ he wondered.  He certainly couldn't feel any.  Oh well, one way to find out for sure.  

 His fingers found the front-hook closure of her bra, his mouth covering hers to cut off any protestations.  With a quick twist and snap, the cups of her bra hung apart, and his hand immediately moved in, measuring and caressing, and _fuck, she fit perfectly in his hand_.  He moaned at the feeling of the soft flesh beneath his palm, the tip of his middle finger tracing the hardened bud of her nipple.

 She writhed against him, and he pressed his other hand to her back, running it up and down over the smooth, hot skin as his tongue continued to claim her over and over again.  Finally pulling back to look at her, he was surprised to see something like embarrassment and anxiety in her eyes. 

 "The bra," she muttered, eyes darting away as she shed said garment completely.  "Sorry about that.  It was—"

 " _Hush_ ," he demanded, plucking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, exceptionally pleased to see her eyes close and her head fall back against the wall.  "You're lovely." 

 And she was.  He half-wondered why he hadn't really noticed before.

* * *

 Thank God that was out of the way!  Maybe he had just called her "lovely" so she would shut up and he could get on with it, but damn if she didn't believe him when he lowered that luscious mouth and took her aching nipple between his lips.  "Oh!" she nearly screamed, her back arching, involuntarily sending her hips against his, and _oh yes_.  _Now_ she really did believe him because certain parts of his anatomy had certainly begun to show their appreciation.

 Namely, a certain very hard, very _large_ part of his anatomy.  She felt another thrill of other-worldliness, grasping to believe this was really happening. 

 "Go lie down," he commanded, snapping her back to reality.  " _Now_."

 Something in his voice made her even wetter.  Made it seem even more surreal.  He was obviously going to do whatever he wanted, and he expected her full compliance.  It made her feel blissfully free.  And she would tell him any minute now that she really had no clue what she was doing. 

 Yes, any minute now….

 She walked backwards to the bed, gulping as he stalked her every movement like a large, hungry cat.  Yeah, she had definitely seen that look on Crookshanks' face before.  That look that said, "What part of you do I want to rip to pieces first?" 

 She shuddered when the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed.

 " _Lie down now_."

 His tone of voice brooked no argument, and she scurried to comply, her nipples growing even tighter in the cool air of the room, her centre aching even more fiercely as he toed off his shoes.  He reached behind his neck and pulled his own jumper over his head, revealing a smooth, perfectly sculpted expanse of milk chocolate skin.

 "I want you to grab the rails of the headboard," he told her in a plain voice, as though he was telling her he wanted her to sit while he made another pot of coffee.  He reached down and jerked off one sock.  Then the other.  Made quick work of his belt, sliding it from the loops of his trousers and tossing it aside to join his jumper. 

 When she didn't obey at first, he gave her a feral grin.  "Trust me, Hermione," he cooed to her.  "You're going to need something to hold on to.  Now grab the rails."

 She did as he requested, a part of her thankful that he was taking the lead so naturally.  And at this rate, she thought she might climax before he even crawled onto the bed.  From the images alone that he conveyed in his commands. 

 "Do _not_ move your hands," he said.

 She just lay there, fists curled around the rails of her headboard, watching the muscles work just beneath his flawless skin as he knelt on the end of the bed and slowly started crawling towards her, his eyes greedily devouring every inch of her body.  His gaze was like a touch, and she was so wet.  Dying for friction.  Without even realising what she was doing, she squirmed, her hips bucking up towards his chest as he crawled even closer. 

 "Yeah, that's it," he whispered with a smirk.  "Show me how you move those hips."

 She was going to die.  Especially if he didn't touch her—didn't do _something_ —very soon.  And she couldn't touch herself.  Couldn't move her hands, even though nothing was keeping them where they were other than her own will.  She bucked her hips again, whimpering when the vee between her thighs came into contact with the lower part of his chest. 

 He stared down at the grinding motion of her pelvis.  "I can't wait to be inside that," he said, his voice now slightly strained.  He plucked the buttons of her denims, and in a quick motion, he jerked them down over her knees, slipping them all the way off and throwing them to the ever-growing pile of clothes.

 With his hands on the insides of her thighs, he pushed her legs even further apart, holding them down against the mattress as he leaned forward and licked his way from her knee to the ticklish spot where her thigh met her torso.  She giggled, but only for a second, because then his tongue swept out and took a long, slow lick at her soaking knickers. 

 "Oh, god!" she cried, her hips jerking off the bed.

 "No," he corrected her with a chuckle.  " _Blaise_.  Say it." 

 Another swipe of his tongue.  "Blaise!" she moaned, wriggling, trying to get him to do it again.  And again.

 "Mmm," he purred.  He lifted her hips and grasped the straps of her bikini knickers, tugging until they, too, joined the pile, and her legs were raised in an extremely vulnerable position.  He pressed her thighs down again, lazily licking at her until she felt her entire pelvis start to tremble uncontrollably.  There was no way she could already be this close. 

 Then his lips surrounded her clit, sucking, his tongue making soft, quick flicking motions.  Her whole body was shaking, her brain gone the way of her knickers, and she felt her insides crawling towards release.  Just.  _Almost_.  There.

 Then he stopped.  She started to protest, but he looked up at her and raised one eyebrow, effectively cutting her off before she could begin.  He stripped out of his own trousers, and she held her breath as he slid his pants off.  She slammed her eyes shut, not wanting to look and wanting to look so badly. 

 "Hermione?" he prodded her, a trace of concern in his low voice.  "Are you alright?  It's only a game.  You can move your hands if you want to."

 Oh, if only that was what was bothering her.  She slowly opened her eyes, finding him hovering just above her on his forearms, his… _holyfuckinghell_.  His cock was thick.  Long.  Fully erect and practically dripping, and no.  She couldn't do this.  It was… well, it just couldn't be possible.  Never mind that people had been successfully doing it since the Paleolithic era. 

 Her mouth must have been hanging open quite unattractively, and with another chuckle (as though he was accustomed to such a reaction from the women he slept with), he took advantage of the situation, capturing her in another slow, heart-stopping kiss.

 She melted.  She had come this far, after all, and what were the chances that she'd find another boy who didn't run at the notion of a padded bra?  But Blaise….  She sighed.  Blaise Zabini was built for women, she decided.  Every last dark, enormous inch of him. 

 She really would tell him.  Any minute now….

* * *

 Blaise was torn between wanting to stretch this out as long as possible and throwing her legs over his shoulders and pounding into her like there was no tomorrow.  But in his vast experience, it was that much sweeter to draw it out, so that's what he did.

 Besides, even though it had been about three months, he and his right hand had gotten together before he left his flat this evening.  So he was fairly sure he wasn't going to embarrass himself.  He hoped.  Who knew Hermione was such a wriggling mass of sexual energy? 

 She looked like she wanted to say something.  Probably tell him this was a bad idea, or she had changed her mind, or that she didn't know what had gotten into her.  Too bad.  They had come this far.  And if she didn't stop grinding herself against his thigh like that, he was going to go a lot farther more quickly than he intended.  She was soaking wet, her lips sliding up and down over his thigh, and fuck.  The way she moved was driving him insane.

 With a deep growl, he repositioned himself, sliding the length of his aching cock along the junction of her folds and practically whimpering at her heat.  He slid against her a few more times before pressing the head of his cock to her entrance.  She gasped and went rigid beneath him.  Fuck. 

 "Blaise?" she squeaked.

  _Oh god, pleeeeease don't tell me to stop_ , he silently begged her.  He would.  But at this point, it would be really, _really_ painful.  "Yes?" he whispered, stilling his hips. 

 "I just…"  Her eyes darted away.  What the hell could be so important right now?  "I mean…."  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I've never done this before."

 He chuckled.  She was obviously afraid he would think she was a slut or something.  But Blaise didn't think that way.  Men had one-night stands all the time.  He never understood why women were looked down upon for doing the same.  "Don't worry," he cooed, slipping up between her lips again, the head of his cock nudging her clit and making her release those sinfully sexy whimpers.  "It's alright to want something, Hermione.  And to simply take it." 

 She rolled her eyes at him.  "No, Blaise," she asserted breathlessly.  "I've _never done this_ before."

 He stilled completely, every nerve shocked to awareness.  "You mean…"  He studied her eyes carefully.  "You've never…?"

 She hesitantly shook her head.

 A million thoughts raced through his head.  Things like _I'm her first!_ and _What the fuck is_ wrong _with Potter and Weasley?_ and _Why would she want to do it_ this _way?_ and _Oh, Merlin, I don't know if I can be gentle right now._

 "Fuck," he panted, making another slow thrust against her.  "Fuck, all right.  _All right_."  He studied her face carefully.  "Are you sure you want to?"

 "I'm sure!" she practically yelled.  "It's not that I haven't wanted to."  She cupped her tiny hands over his shoulders, her thumbs darting out to caress his collarbone.  "Look, it's not like it's a big deal… right?" 

 Hermione Granger, who labeled the drawers of her lingerie chest, didn't think it was a big deal.  "Right," he answered quickly.  "It's completely overrated, actually."

 "So I've heard."  Her eyes fluttered, and she shrugged beneath him.  "And it doesn't really mean anything.  Right?" 

 "No!" he replied a bit too quickly.  In a lower voice, he added, "No, of course not."  She nodded and gave him a miniscule smile.  "Alright," he repeated, and maybe if his voice was a bit gentler—a bit less guarded than usual—it was only because he was oddly touched.  Oddly affected, which was the strangest thing of all.  "If you're sure."

 "Yes," she said, her smile widening.  " _Please_."

 Damn, she used the "P" word.  That was it.  He wasn't going to be able to hold back for very long.  He slid his arms beneath her torso, hugging her close as he kissed her cheeks, her eyebrows, the tip of her nose, before settling again on her swollen mouth, groaning as she returned his kisses passionately.

 "H-how do you want it, then?" he asked.  He supposed he _had_ to ask. 

 "What?"  She blinked.  "What do you mean?"

 He gasped as she moved her hips against him, shamelessly using the rigid length of his cock to get the friction she wanted.  "Slow and easy," he suggested, "or quick and painless?" 

 She seemed to debate the point longer than necessary.  Finally, she responded, "I suppose… quick."

 "Right," he said with a tiny nod.  "Okay, then.  Just.  Just relax." 

 And she did.  He could feel her soften beneath him, and it ignited him.  He grasped his cock and led it to her entrance, pressing gently at first, watching her closely.  He made small, slow thrusts, breaching her bit by bit but not enough to fully enter her.  He could finally feel her barrier.  Gritting his teeth, he carefully drew back.  Then, with his forehead against her shoulder, his right hand skimming her side, he plunged forward.

* * *

 "That wasn't exactly painless," Hermione told him.  Actually, it wasn't that bad, either.  Just a bit uncomfortable.  And weird.  Yes, very weird.

 "Yeah," he whispered, fully buried inside her and holding completely still.  "And this isn't exactly torture."  She giggled, feeling oddly giddy to finally be doing this.  She must have squirmed a bit unintentionally because he panted, "Hermione, _don't_ … just… _oh fuck_."

 "What?" she asked.  He sounded like he was in pain.  "Are you alright?"

 He face shot up from her shoulder, his eyes meeting hers.  "No.  Not at all," he deadpanned.  "In fact, I think I'll stop." 

 She sighed heavily.  "I knew it."  She had no idea what she was doing.

 "Hermione." 

 "Yes?"

 He groaned as she moved a bit against him once again.  "I'm about two strokes away from fucking you through the bed." 

 As her body began to adjust, that really did not sound like a bad idea.  "Oh," she whispered, her eyes growing wide.  He started to move, very long, slow strokes in and out.  Innnn and ouuuut.  She could feel his body shake with the effort.  ""Ahhhh…." she sighed as one slow thrust sent him all the way in.

 "Good?" he inquired, an undeniable boasting quality to his voice. 

 "Mmm-hmmm."

 "I must say I agree." 

 "With a former Gryffindor?" she teased him.  "Remind me to mark my calend—AHH!"

 He had slammed in to the hilt without notice, sending her arse into the mattress, and his pubic bone into her clit.  Which felt _really_ good. 

 His smile was devilish.  "You like that?"

 "Oh god… _Blaise_."  She grabbed his forearms and held on.  "Again.  Do it again." 

 He followed her instructions, withdrawing with painstaking slowness before shoving back in all the way, stilling for a moment when he was fully encased by her body, moving his hips in tiny circles that made her see stars.  "Mmm," he purred.  "You're so hot.  So _wet_ "

 He kept up his slow but somewhat brutal motions, stopping each time he was buried to roll his hips.  She could feel every circle of motion against her clit, and she started to think she might actually come from this.  She didn't think that was possible.  But already, she felt the tension grow, and she felt it spiral quickly upwards when his fingers reached between them, pulling and stroking her clit in unison with his thrusts and grinds. 

 "Bl-Blaise?" she whimpered.  He had already shown considerable patience.  "It's okay.  You don't have to—"

 "Oh, no," he interrupted her.  "You _are_ going to come." 

 Well, since he put it like that….

 But she still wasn't quite there.  She needed just a bit more to push her over the edge. 

 "God, you're definitely tight as a virgin," he said.  Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, as though he was trying to figure out what she needed.  " _But you move like a slut._ "

 Oh, god, _that_ , for some reason, was exactly what she wanted to hear.  That she shouldn't be doing this.  That she was somehow being naughty, being… not so Hermione.  "I can't…!" she wailed. 

 "Shhh."  He nibbled her earlobe, never ceasing the delicious motions of his hips and his hands combined.  "Take your time, Hermione.  Take what you need."  When she bucked up against him, desperate to make him go faster, he chuckled.  "Yeah.  Just like that."  She was getting closer and closer.  "Because when you come…"  He gave her a particularly brutal stab.  "Ahh, when you come, I promise I'm going to take what _I_ need.  Hard.  Deep."  He hesitated a moment, halfway in, and then he plunged.  " _I'm going to fuck you like a two-knut whore_."

 "Blaise!!" 

 That was it.  She felt the tension break, felt herself tighten around him, every muscle in her body and her cunt clamping down on him.  Holding him in place while the waves of sweet release flooded her again and again.

 Apparently, that was it for him, too, because through her haze of relief, she could feel him tense as well. 

 "Aghh," he groaned.  "I'm not going to hold back anymore."

 Dreamily, she asked, "You were holding back?" 

 With a growl and a fierce expression, he pulled her legs over his shoulders, shoving himself into her body quickly, over and over again, as deeply as he could go.  She cried out at the new angle of penetration, realising just how vulnerable she was in this position.  This was amazing.  She felt like she was being totally used, in the best way possible.  His eyes were slammed shut, his breathing harsh, and he no longer had any regard for anything other than his own need.

 With a hoarse cry, he stilled completed inside her.  Then she felt it.  His orgasm.  How surreal!  She felt his cock throb inside her, releasing his seed, pulsating just as she had felt her own muscles do.  A gentle vibration, which she knew did not feel gentle at all whilst it occurred.  She marveled at it all…the look of pained ecstasy on his face, the way his arms shook to support himself. 

 The way he crashed atop her moments later, still buried deeply, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck like that same big cat.

 Or like a baby. 

* * *

 "See?" he said when he could finally speak again.  He lay on his back, holding her against his sweaty chest, not at all as bothered by his sudden need for closeness as he probably should have been.  "Completed overrated." 

 She giggled against him, and it only made him hug her closer.  "Yeah," she agreed.  "Completely."  After a moment of silence, she said in a soft voice, "So.  Want to do it again?"

 He laughed.  Honestly laughed.  "Yeah," he replied, kissing her on the temple.  "Give me a minute." 

 "A minute?"  Her hand was already traveling to his cock, and surprisingly, his cock was already starting to stir once again.  "You know, I liked that," she mumbled.

 "Well, I hope so," he deadpanned. 

 "No."  She playfully slapped him on the belly.  "Not just _that_ …. But also… what you said."

 Surely she didn't mean…. "Oh?" he asked, one eyebrow darting up. 

 "And when you…"  Merlin, she was blushing.  After what they'd just done, she was _blushing_.  Damn, but it was adorable.  "Well… I liked it when…"  Her voice dropped even more.  "…when you were kind of rough."

 He smiled and glanced over to her closet, where a short line of silk scarves hung by her belts.  With another of his trademark devilish smirks, he replied, " _Did_ you?" 

  _Finis_

"I'm telling you, Gin.  I'm going home with the next bloke to walk through that door."

 Ginny Weasley raised one speculative eyebrow at her companion.  "Hermione?" she offered. "Yeah?"

 "This is mostly a gay bar, you know." 

 Hermione drummed her fingers on the slick fiberglass of the table.  "Oh.  Right."  Looking around briefly, she whispered, "What are we doing here again?"

 Ginny nodded towards Oliver Wood, who was standing on a platform in nothing but a pair of red briefs, shaking his Quidditch-toned arse for all it was worth.  And it was worth a whole lot since Puddlemere's latest victory. 

 "Mmmm, eye candy," Hermione purred, a wicked smile lifting the corners of her mouth.  "Alright then.  I'm going home with the next _straight_ bloke to walk through that door."

 Ginny was obviously about to tell her not to hold her breath when Vincent Crabbe sauntered in, wearing hideously mismatched Muggle clothes and looking more clueless than ever. 

 "Ugh," Ginny said, making a face.  "You might want to rethink your strategy."

 "No," Hermione responded in a firm voice.  "As much as it disturbs me, Crabbe _is_ straight.  And he might be my only chance tonight." 

 "Too bad.  Looks like he's with Gabrielle Delacour."

 "You're kidding?"  Hermione craned her neck to get a better look.  "Unbelievable.  He was with Cho Chang just last week." 

 "I know!"  Now Ginny was drumming her fingers on the table as well, looking pensive.  "What is it with Crabbe?  Is he hung like a centaur or something?"

 "I hope he has something other than his style," Hermione mumbled. 

 "Or his brains," Ginny added.

 "That's it.  I'm doomed," Hermione whinged, setting her mug of butterbeer down with a heavy _thunk_.  "I'll never get rid of it.  I can't believe that Crabbe can get laid on a regular basis, and I'm stuck bar-hopping for someone desperate enough to divest a twenty-three-year-old Ministry librarian of her maidenhead." 

 "Hermione, please don't use the word _maidenhead_."  Ginny wrinkled her nose.  "You know," she added, trying to offer her friend some consolation, "it's not a big deal.  In fact, I'd say sex is completely overrated."

 Hermione was torn between horror and fascination.  "What would Harry say if he heard you talking like that?" she whispered. 

 "He'd say, 'Not tonight, honey.  There's Quidditch on the WWN.'"

 A giggle left Hermione's throat before she could help it.  "Really?" 

 "I'm telling you.  You're not missing much."

 "I still think I'd like to find out for myself." 

 Ginny suddenly straightened in her chair, a wicked smile lighting her face.  "Oooh, don't look now," she whispered.  "Or rather, _do_ look.  _Quickly_."

 Blaise Zabini had just strolled in, leather jacket tossed casually over his shoulder, held by long, thick fingers.  Dark, rich skin tone reflecting the red-orange of the lights on the dance floor, a smirk that said _hulloooo, ladies_ firmly in place.  He briefly canted his head down and glanced around the room before strolling—nay, _prowling_ —towards the bar. 

 "Yep," Hermione nearly growled, tossing back the rest of her butterbeer.  "He'll do."

 Ginny's gaze shot from Zabini to Hermione.  "But he's—"

 "Tall, dark and handsome, with a terrible reputation?"  Wiggling her eyebrows, Hermione decided, "You're right.  He's perfect."

 After the initial shock wore off, Ginny simply looked scandalized.  "You're not going to just leave me here?!" she demanded. 

 "Good point.  Malfoy!" Hermione yelled to a blonde head she saw bobbing in the distance, another very familiar redhead working its way down the column of his neck.  "Ginny's having some wardrobe dilemmas!  Have you got a minute?"

 The flash of Malfoy's teeth could have put the strobe light to shame.  He swaggered over, dragging Ron Weasley by the shirtsleeve.  When he reached their table, his eyes swept first over Ginny and then over her leather-clad brother.  "Wardrobe problems, eh?" he said, gleaming once again in Ginny's direction.  "I thought you'd never ask, half-pint." 

 Ginny looked murderous.  Ron looked amused, which was understandable, since "half-pint" _was_ quite a few steps up from "blood-traitor."

 Rubbing his hands together in glee, Malfoy added, "One Weasley down, six to go."  He fixed Ginny with a pointed glare.  "Though I stand by my assertion that Potter is a lost cause." 

 Hermione wasn't sticking around for Ginny's comeback.

* * *

 Blaise sat down at the bar and lit a small, black cigar, relishing the sweet aroma that engulfed him on his first puff.  Tonight was the night.  He was looking _fine_ , he knew it, and he was determined to end his three-month stretch of celibacy.

 "Zabini!" called Seamus Finnigan as he sauntered over with Blaise's signature drink—vodka martini, extra dry, 2 olives. 

 "Finnigan," Blaise greeted him.  He smiled at the Irishman, inwardly rolling his eyes at the thought that anyone could be so enthusiastic.  Or flamingly homosexual.  "You're still tending bar in this dump?"

 Seamus shrugged.  "Pays the bills." 

 "And gets you laid," Blaise added with a chuckle.

 "Sometimes."  Finnigan pretended to wipe down the spotless counter.  Then, with a showy flick of his wrist, he placed a glass ashtray in front of Blaise.  "I haven't seen you in awhile." 

 "I've been around."  In a lower voice, he amended, "Though I think I might have worn out my welcome down at The Melting Pot."

 "Meaning you've shagged your way through all the regulars, of course," Finnigan replied with a wink. 

 Blaise rolled his cigar around between long, nimble fingers, his smile stretching into a full-blown smirk.  "You know, your subtlety is by far your best quality, Finnigan."

 Finnigan waggled his eyebrows.  "You haven't seen what I can do with my tongue." 

 "Touché."  Blaise actually laughed a bit at their banter.  He wasn't normally one for small talk, but Finnigan was there to ensure he got a healthy buzz before setting out on his true mission for the evening.  Best to stay on his good side.

 "Still living off the trust fund, then?" Finnigan asked, a smirk of his own now playing about his lips. 

 "It's the least I can do," Blaise defended himself.  "I hate to think that husbands eight and nine died in vain."

 Finnigan shook his head, chuckling.  "Zabini," he said in a lilting voice, "you only wish you were the bastard you pretend to be." 

 "Your ex-boyfriend might beg to differ," Blaise mumbled.

 "Ouch!"  Finnigan put his hand over his heart, feigning offense.  "Play nicely now.  You really shouldn't have led Dean on like that.  You're the most vicious tease of a straight man I've ever met." 

 Blaise licked his lips slowly, watching in amusement as Finnigan's eyes followed the motion.  "Thank you," he purred.  "It's a gift."

 Finnigan growled beneath his breath and started stacking beer glasses.  "One day you'll see the error of your ways." 

 " _Blaise Zabini_."

 Blaise only jumped slightly before narrowing his eyes and whispering to Finnigan, "Mmmmm, but not tonight." 

 He would recognize that voice anywhere.  Bossy, firm, with a slightly musical quality that she surely would have squelched had she known what it did to men's loins.  Turning insolently on his barstool, he cocked his head to side and let his eyes travel up and down her short, curvy body.

 "Hermione Granger." 

 He kicked out the barstool next to him and raised one eyebrow.  Yep.  She'd do.

* * *

 Right.  She could do this.  She wasn't too worried about rejection.  Blaise Zabini would allegedly shag anything with breasts.  Granted, she had a little help in that department from Fred and George's latest creation—a Wizarding form of the WonderBra, complete with expansion charms.  Those expansion charms were currently cutting her breath short, but whatever.  She was a woman on a mission.  Zabini's eyes confirmed that they had the same goal.

 Speaking of which, he really _did_ have lovely eyes.  Like the liquid gold of a tiger's eyes, with black around the edges, framed by thick, curled eyelashes.

"Fancy meeting you here," she attempted in her huskiest voice, which might have sounded much better if she hadn't gotten choked off some of his secondhand smoke on the last syllable.

 Taking her hint, he stubbed out his cigar, his eyes roving up and down her Wizarding WonderBra-enhanced form.  "Must be my lucky night," he smoothly replied.  Only Zabini could make such a standard greeting sound like sex. 

 She giggled nervously.  ( _What the hell?_ )  And just how was she supposed to…er, proposition him?  She had no idea what to say.  She had only spoken to him once or twice in passing since their Hogwarts days.

 Luckily, he was the first to speak.  "Still working in the Ministry library?" 

 "Oh," she answered, tearing her gaze away from the full curve of his lips.  "Yeah."

 "And how are things among…"  He stared pointedly at her chest.  "…the _stacks_?"

 "Peachy."  Was that _her_ voice that sounded so breathy?  Maybe this would be easier than she had imagined.

 "Mmmm..." he agreed.  " _Lovely_."

 "How about you?" she inquired.  She had no idea what he did for a living.  If anything.  "Are you still—"

 "Wasting my time, money and education?" he suggested.  "Yes." 

 "Ah," she replied.  This conversation was going absolutely nowhere good.  But since he had opened himself up so nicely….  "You've turned it into an art form, so I've heard."

 "That—" he began, looking scandalised, "—is absolutely true."  He finished the statement with a wink that sent little sparks straight to her front-hook closure. 

 She sighed.  And then caught herself.  The Big Question.  She could do it.  She could ask.  "And do you have plans for the evening?"

 What a smile!  It was the kind of half-hearted, heavy-lidded expression of amusement that promised hours of things she'd only ever read about.  And then, to make it that much worse, he leaned over and placed those full lips against her ear.  "I suddenly have more plans than you can imagine." 

 All right.  The boy was good.

 "Luckily," she suggested, dusting nonexistent lint from his collar with fingers that thankfully were not shaking _too_ badly, "I have a vivid imagination." 

 "Oh?" he said.  He turned his head to look her directly in the eyes.  "Do you imagine we could get out of here?"

 Oh, that look!  She wouldn't have been surprised to discover there was some sorcery behind it.  "I imagine my place would be just fine." 

 He hopped off his barstool, and leave it to Zabini to even _hop_ with utmost grace.

 "Lead the way, Granger." 

* * *

 It must have been the shortest Side-Along Apparition home in history.  But now that her nerves were starting to twinge, Hermione regretted not Apparating via the South Pole.  _Oh, god!_ she thought, _I'm really going to do this!_

 Blaise stood beside her outside her Muggle flat, leaning with one shoulder against the brick wall, arms crossed, smirking as she fumbled with the keys.  Her heart was somewhere around her small intestine.  She watched him nervously as she tried for the fifth time to insert the key into the lock.  He looked like he wasn't going to allow any further attempts without quickly taking over.

 Tearing her eyes away from him, she looked down, only to notice….

 "Shite!" she exclaimed.  She put her hand over her mouth and leaned her forehead against the door.  "This is the wrong set of keys."  Indeed, she had grabbed her work keys on her way out.

 "You mean we're locked out?" he purred, one eyebrow coming close to getting lost in his black curls. 

 "Well…" she stalled, "…I didn't bring my wand.  So…."

 Oh, that smirk was growing by the minute.  "Then I hope you don't mind semi-public sex," he whispered. 

 Before she knew what had happened, her back was flush against the door, his hands on either side of her shoulder.  "S-semi-public…" she muttered.

 " _Sex_ ," he confirmed.  He made the word sound _exactly_ like what it meant. 

 She gulped.  Surely he wasn't serious?

 "But…but surely you've got your w—"  The word ended in a squeak as his mouth came down over hers, way too softly to be as demanding as it seemed.  The squeak became a moan when he brushed his lips over hers once, twice, three times before changing his angle and completely devouring her. 

 Oh dear.  If the real thing felt anything like his tongue, she wasn't going to survive this ordeal in one piece.  With his mouth firmly pressed against her, he touched the tip of his tongue to hers, teasing.  Slipping back and forth and flicking lightly until, with a low rumble in his throat, he fully entered her mouth, making long, lazy thrusts, and—oh!  His knee dug between her thighs, and she just _couldn't help_ rubbing against him.

 The boy's kiss clearly said, _I own you_ , and her body was beginning to roar its agreement, her nipples like diamond studs beneath the charmed padding of her bra. 

 "Whoa!" she demanded, pushing him away.  He didn't go far, instead abandoning her mouth for her neck.  "Yes?" he whispered between nibbles.

 

" _No_ ," she answered, trying in vain to push him away once again.  Apparently, it's impossible to push someone away with one's legs clamped tightly around that person's thigh.

 Nevertheless, he pulled back to stare down at her, and now his lips were even fuller, pinker.  There was much more black around the edges of the gold in his eyes, and he was taking short puffs of breath.  "No?" he repeated.  God!  Blaise Zabini was standing outside _her_ Muggle flat, looking like he might die if she said "no" again!  It was too much to process.

 "No," she answered anyway.  "I am _not_ doing this out here." 

 A boyish smile crossed his face, and he jerked her hips away from the door, against his own, as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his wand.  Leaning his lips against her ear, he whispered, " _Alohamora_ ," every syllable sending waves of heat straight to her core.

 Instead of removing his lips, his tongue reached out and traced the shell of her ear, making her whimper helplessly.  "Well?" he hinted, the word caressing her earlobe. 

 She jumped.  "W-well w-what?"

 "The door's open.  And we're not doing this out here, or so you say."  He pulled back to look at her, his eyes heavily lidded.  "Which only leaves two options." 

 "Two options?"  Wow, she was queen of the eloquence this evening.

 He chuckled.  "We say goodbye," he whispered, his hands now lightly grazing her sides, " _or we go in_."

 So this was it.  His hands stilled, and despite the smokiness of his eyes, she could see something softer… something… _something like a man who would know exactly how to make a virgin scream_ , her brain finished.

 She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  "Do come in," she whispered. 

 The boyish smile instantaneously became a devilish one, and the journey inside was a blur of hands and lips and tongues.  He kicked the door shut behind them, leading her backwards to the hallway, his hands sliding over every curve he could find.

 And despite the utter strangeness of the situation, all Hermione could think was, " _This is perfect_."

* * *

 Blaise had no idea where he was going, and he couldn't really _see_ where he was going with their faces attached like this.  Not that he was complaining.  At all.  But he was more than ready to move things along just a bit.  The kiss outside her front door had been… not at all what he would have expected from Hermione Granger.  He wanted more. 

 The hall seemed to be a generally safe direction, although he had nothing against sex on sofas.  Or carpet.  Or against walls.  But Granger seemed like a "bed" kind of girl, and it suited him just fine, because he had often wondered what all that hair would look like against a mass of pillows.

 Pillows under her head.  Pillows under her back, arching her, giving him _just_ the right access to grind her through the mattress. 

 He groaned through their kiss.  Oh, but this was going to be good.

 But he still had no idea where he was going.  "Hermione?" he asked between nibbles.  He felt her jump a bit at the use of her given name.  "A little help here?" 

 "Oh.  Right," she mumbled.  Her hands drifted down to his belt, trembling in the most adorable way as she fumbled with the buckle.  It had obviously been awhile for her, too.

 He chuckled.  "Well, that works, too," he said.  "But actually, I was just wondering where we might find your bedroom." 

 "Oh!"  Damn, she was cute when she blushed like that.  "Sorry.  Follow me."

 Fuck, what a view!  She scurried away, glancing back over her shoulder once or twice, her arse swinging, and never mind what he thought previously.  The girl _definitely_ knew what she was doing. 

 She led him to a small but very neat room that couldn't have been more Granger-like.  Other than the bed, covered in a simple, cream-coloured duvet, the largest piece of furniture was a bookcase.  Everything was painstakingly organized.  Even the drawers of her lingerie chest were magically labeled.  He glanced curiously at the drawer that appeared to read, "Garters and Stockings."  The cross between such anal-retentiveness and such blatant sexuality inflamed him.  The girl was begging to let loose.

 "Very tidy.  Were you expecting company?" he teased her, indicating the state of the room with a wave of his arm. 

 "No!" she protested a bit too forcefully.  Blaise's eyebrows knit together.  She seemed really jumpy for a girl who had propositioned a practical stranger for a one-night stand.  "No," she repeated, her voice softer.  "I just like things to be—"

 "In order?" he suggested.  "Neat and easy?"  She was standing there practically wringing her hands.  He took her hands in his and lifted them above her head, backing her against the wall.  "I'll have to apologise in advance then," he whispered, leaving her arms stretched up as his hands moved down, slowly approaching her shirttail.  "Because there's not going to be anything _neat_ or _easy_ about what I'm going to do you tonight." 

 He jerked her jumper over her head in one swift motion and tossed it aside.  She gasped, her eyes growing as wide as Galleons, and immediately his lips went to her collarbone, nibbling their way down to her cleavage, and _damn_.  That was some serious cleavage.

 She whimpered as he cupped her breasts, thumbs fondling her nipples through the… _padded?_ … fabric.  _Does she even_ have _nipples?_ he wondered.  He certainly couldn't feel any.  Oh well, one way to find out for sure.  

 His fingers found the front-hook closure of her bra, his mouth covering hers to cut off any protestations.  With a quick twist and snap, the cups of her bra hung apart, and his hand immediately moved in, measuring and caressing, and _fuck, she fit perfectly in his hand_.  He moaned at the feeling of the soft flesh beneath his palm, the tip of his middle finger tracing the hardened bud of her nipple.

 She writhed against him, and he pressed his other hand to her back, running it up and down over the smooth, hot skin as his tongue continued to claim her over and over again.  Finally pulling back to look at her, he was surprised to see something like embarrassment and anxiety in her eyes. 

 "The bra," she muttered, eyes darting away as she shed said garment completely.  "Sorry about that.  It was—"

 " _Hush_ ," he demanded, plucking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, exceptionally pleased to see her eyes close and her head fall back against the wall.  "You're lovely." 

 And she was.  He half-wondered why he hadn't really noticed before.

* * *

 Thank God that was out of the way!  Maybe he had just called her "lovely" so she would shut up and he could get on with it, but damn if she didn't believe him when he lowered that luscious mouth and took her aching nipple between his lips.  "Oh!" she nearly screamed, her back arching, involuntarily sending her hips against his, and _oh yes_.  _Now_ she really did believe him because certain parts of his anatomy had certainly begun to show their appreciation.

 Namely, a certain very hard, very _large_ part of his anatomy.  She felt another thrill of other-worldliness, grasping to believe this was really happening. 

 "Go lie down," he commanded, snapping her back to reality.  " _Now_."

 Something in his voice made her even wetter.  Made it seem even more surreal.  He was obviously going to do whatever he wanted, and he expected her full compliance.  It made her feel blissfully free.  And she would tell him any minute now that she really had no clue what she was doing. 

 Yes, any minute now….

 She walked backwards to the bed, gulping as he stalked her every movement like a large, hungry cat.  Yeah, she had definitely seen that look on Crookshanks' face before.  That look that said, "What part of you do I want to rip to pieces first?" 

 She shuddered when the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed.

 " _Lie down now_."

 His tone of voice brooked no argument, and she scurried to comply, her nipples growing even tighter in the cool air of the room, her centre aching even more fiercely as he toed off his shoes.  He reached behind his neck and pulled his own jumper over his head, revealing a smooth, perfectly sculpted expanse of milk chocolate skin.

 "I want you to grab the rails of the headboard," he told her in a plain voice, as though he was telling her he wanted her to sit while he made another pot of coffee.  He reached down and jerked off one sock.  Then the other.  Made quick work of his belt, sliding it from the loops of his trousers and tossing it aside to join his jumper. 

 When she didn't obey at first, he gave her a feral grin.  "Trust me, Hermione," he cooed to her.  "You're going to need something to hold on to.  Now grab the rails."

 She did as he requested, a part of her thankful that he was taking the lead so naturally.  And at this rate, she thought she might climax before he even crawled onto the bed.  From the images alone that he conveyed in his commands. 

 "Do _not_ move your hands," he said.

 She just lay there, fists curled around the rails of her headboard, watching the muscles work just beneath his flawless skin as he knelt on the end of the bed and slowly started crawling towards her, his eyes greedily devouring every inch of her body.  His gaze was like a touch, and she was so wet.  Dying for friction.  Without even realising what she was doing, she squirmed, her hips bucking up towards his chest as he crawled even closer. 

 "Yeah, that's it," he whispered with a smirk.  "Show me how you move those hips."

 She was going to die.  Especially if he didn't touch her—didn't do _something_ —very soon.  And she couldn't touch herself.  Couldn't move her hands, even though nothing was keeping them where they were other than her own will.  She bucked her hips again, whimpering when the vee between her thighs came into contact with the lower part of his chest. 

 He stared down at the grinding motion of her pelvis.  "I can't wait to be inside that," he said, his voice now slightly strained.  He plucked the buttons of her denims, and in a quick motion, he jerked them down over her knees, slipping them all the way off and throwing them to the ever-growing pile of clothes.

 With his hands on the insides of her thighs, he pushed her legs even further apart, holding them down against the mattress as he leaned forward and licked his way from her knee to the ticklish spot where her thigh met her torso.  She giggled, but only for a second, because then his tongue swept out and took a long, slow lick at her soaking knickers. 

 "Oh, god!" she cried, her hips jerking off the bed.

 "No," he corrected her with a chuckle.  " _Blaise_.  Say it." 

 Another swipe of his tongue.  "Blaise!" she moaned, wriggling, trying to get him to do it again.  And again.

 "Mmm," he purred.  He lifted her hips and grasped the straps of her bikini knickers, tugging until they, too, joined the pile, and her legs were raised in an extremely vulnerable position.  He pressed her thighs down again, lazily licking at her until she felt her entire pelvis start to tremble uncontrollably.  There was no way she could already be this close. 

 Then his lips surrounded her clit, sucking, his tongue making soft, quick flicking motions.  Her whole body was shaking, her brain gone the way of her knickers, and she felt her insides crawling towards release.  Just.  _Almost_.  There.

 Then he stopped.  She started to protest, but he looked up at her and raised one eyebrow, effectively cutting her off before she could begin.  He stripped out of his own trousers, and she held her breath as he slid his pants off.  She slammed her eyes shut, not wanting to look and wanting to look so badly. 

 "Hermione?" he prodded her, a trace of concern in his low voice.  "Are you alright?  It's only a game.  You can move your hands if you want to."

 Oh, if only that was what was bothering her.  She slowly opened her eyes, finding him hovering just above her on his forearms, his… _holyfuckinghell_.  His cock was thick.  Long.  Fully erect and practically dripping, and no.  She couldn't do this.  It was… well, it just couldn't be possible.  Never mind that people had been successfully doing it since the Paleolithic era. 

 Her mouth must have been hanging open quite unattractively, and with another chuckle (as though he was accustomed to such a reaction from the women he slept with), he took advantage of the situation, capturing her in another slow, heart-stopping kiss.

 She melted.  She had come this far, after all, and what were the chances that she'd find another boy who didn't run at the notion of a padded bra?  But Blaise….  She sighed.  Blaise Zabini was built for women, she decided.  Every last dark, enormous inch of him. 

 She really would tell him.  Any minute now….

* * *

 Blaise was torn between wanting to stretch this out as long as possible and throwing her legs over his shoulders and pounding into her like there was no tomorrow.  But in his vast experience, it was that much sweeter to draw it out, so that's what he did.

 Besides, even though it had been about three months, he and his right hand had gotten together before he left his flat this evening.  So he was fairly sure he wasn't going to embarrass himself.  He hoped.  Who knew Hermione was such a wriggling mass of sexual energy? 

 She looked like she wanted to say something.  Probably tell him this was a bad idea, or she had changed her mind, or that she didn't know what had gotten into her.  Too bad.  They had come this far.  And if she didn't stop grinding herself against his thigh like that, he was going to go a lot farther more quickly than he intended.  She was soaking wet, her lips sliding up and down over his thigh, and fuck.  The way she moved was driving him insane.

 With a deep growl, he repositioned himself, sliding the length of his aching cock along the junction of her folds and practically whimpering at her heat.  He slid against her a few more times before pressing the head of his cock to her entrance.  She gasped and went rigid beneath him.  Fuck. 

 "Blaise?" she squeaked.

  _Oh god, pleeeeease don't tell me to stop_ , he silently begged her.  He would.  But at this point, it would be really, _really_ painful.  "Yes?" he whispered, stilling his hips. 

 "I just…"  Her eyes darted away.  What the hell could be so important right now?  "I mean…."  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I've never done this before."

 He chuckled.  She was obviously afraid he would think she was a slut or something.  But Blaise didn't think that way.  Men had one-night stands all the time.  He never understood why women were looked down upon for doing the same.  "Don't worry," he cooed, slipping up between her lips again, the head of his cock nudging her clit and making her release those sinfully sexy whimpers.  "It's alright to want something, Hermione.  And to simply take it." 

 She rolled her eyes at him.  "No, Blaise," she asserted breathlessly.  "I've _never done this_ before."

 He stilled completely, every nerve shocked to awareness.  "You mean…"  He studied her eyes carefully.  "You've never…?"

 She hesitantly shook her head.

 A million thoughts raced through his head.  Things like _I'm her first!_ and _What the fuck is_ wrong _with Potter and Weasley?_ and _Why would she want to do it_ this _way?_ and _Oh, Merlin, I don't know if I can be gentle right now._

 "Fuck," he panted, making another slow thrust against her.  "Fuck, all right.  _All right_."  He studied her face carefully.  "Are you sure you want to?"

 "I'm sure!" she practically yelled.  "It's not that I haven't wanted to."  She cupped her tiny hands over his shoulders, her thumbs darting out to caress his collarbone.  "Look, it's not like it's a big deal… right?" 

 Hermione Granger, who labeled the drawers of her lingerie chest, didn't think it was a big deal.  "Right," he answered quickly.  "It's completely overrated, actually."

 "So I've heard."  Her eyes fluttered, and she shrugged beneath him.  "And it doesn't really mean anything.  Right?" 

 "No!" he replied a bit too quickly.  In a lower voice, he added, "No, of course not."  She nodded and gave him a miniscule smile.  "Alright," he repeated, and maybe if his voice was a bit gentler—a bit less guarded than usual—it was only because he was oddly touched.  Oddly affected, which was the strangest thing of all.  "If you're sure."

 "Yes," she said, her smile widening.  " _Please_."

 Damn, she used the "P" word.  That was it.  He wasn't going to be able to hold back for very long.  He slid his arms beneath her torso, hugging her close as he kissed her cheeks, her eyebrows, the tip of her nose, before settling again on her swollen mouth, groaning as she returned his kisses passionately.

 "H-how do you want it, then?" he asked.  He supposed he _had_ to ask. 

 "What?"  She blinked.  "What do you mean?"

 He gasped as she moved her hips against him, shamelessly using the rigid length of his cock to get the friction she wanted.  "Slow and easy," he suggested, "or quick and painless?" 

 She seemed to debate the point longer than necessary.  Finally, she responded, "I suppose… quick."

 "Right," he said with a tiny nod.  "Okay, then.  Just.  Just relax." 

 And she did.  He could feel her soften beneath him, and it ignited him.  He grasped his cock and led it to her entrance, pressing gently at first, watching her closely.  He made small, slow thrusts, breaching her bit by bit but not enough to fully enter her.  He could finally feel her barrier.  Gritting his teeth, he carefully drew back.  Then, with his forehead against her shoulder, his right hand skimming her side, he plunged forward.

* * *

 "That wasn't exactly painless," Hermione told him.  Actually, it wasn't that bad, either.  Just a bit uncomfortable.  And weird.  Yes, very weird.

 "Yeah," he whispered, fully buried inside her and holding completely still.  "And this isn't exactly torture."  She giggled, feeling oddly giddy to finally be doing this.  She must have squirmed a bit unintentionally because he panted, "Hermione, _don't_ … just… _oh fuck_."

 "What?" she asked.  He sounded like he was in pain.  "Are you alright?"

 He face shot up from her shoulder, his eyes meeting hers.  "No.  Not at all," he deadpanned.  "In fact, I think I'll stop." 

 She sighed heavily.  "I knew it."  She had no idea what she was doing.

 "Hermione." 

 "Yes?"

 He groaned as she moved a bit against him once again.  "I'm about two strokes away from fucking you through the bed." 

 As her body began to adjust, that really did not sound like a bad idea.  "Oh," she whispered, her eyes growing wide.  He started to move, very long, slow strokes in and out.  Innnn and ouuuut.  She could feel his body shake with the effort.  ""Ahhhh…." she sighed as one slow thrust sent him all the way in.

 "Good?" he inquired, an undeniable boasting quality to his voice. 

 "Mmm-hmmm."

 "I must say I agree." 

 "With a former Gryffindor?" she teased him.  "Remind me to mark my calend—AHH!"

 He had slammed in to the hilt without notice, sending her arse into the mattress, and his pubic bone into her clit.  Which felt _really_ good. 

 His smile was devilish.  "You like that?"

 "Oh god… _Blaise_."  She grabbed his forearms and held on.  "Again.  Do it again." 

 He followed her instructions, withdrawing with painstaking slowness before shoving back in all the way, stilling for a moment when he was fully encased by her body, moving his hips in tiny circles that made her see stars.  "Mmm," he purred.  "You're so hot.  So _wet_ "

 He kept up his slow but somewhat brutal motions, stopping each time he was buried to roll his hips.  She could feel every circle of motion against her clit, and she started to think she might actually come from this.  She didn't think that was possible.  But already, she felt the tension grow, and she felt it spiral quickly upwards when his fingers reached between them, pulling and stroking her clit in unison with his thrusts and grinds. 

 "Bl-Blaise?" she whimpered.  He had already shown considerable patience.  "It's okay.  You don't have to—"

 "Oh, no," he interrupted her.  "You _are_ going to come." 

 Well, since he put it like that….

 But she still wasn't quite there.  She needed just a bit more to push her over the edge. 

 "God, you're definitely tight as a virgin," he said.  Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, as though he was trying to figure out what she needed.  " _But you move like a slut._ "

 Oh, god, _that_ , for some reason, was exactly what she wanted to hear.  That she shouldn't be doing this.  That she was somehow being naughty, being… not so Hermione.  "I can't…!" she wailed. 

 "Shhh."  He nibbled her earlobe, never ceasing the delicious motions of his hips and his hands combined.  "Take your time, Hermione.  Take what you need."  When she bucked up against him, desperate to make him go faster, he chuckled.  "Yeah.  Just like that."  She was getting closer and closer.  "Because when you come…"  He gave her a particularly brutal stab.  "Ahh, when you come, I promise I'm going to take what _I_ need.  Hard.  Deep."  He hesitated a moment, halfway in, and then he plunged.  " _I'm going to fuck you like a two-knut whore_."

 "Blaise!!" 

 That was it.  She felt the tension break, felt herself tighten around him, every muscle in her body and her cunt clamping down on him.  Holding him in place while the waves of sweet release flooded her again and again.

 Apparently, that was it for him, too, because through her haze of relief, she could feel him tense as well. 

 "Aghh," he groaned.  "I'm not going to hold back anymore."

 Dreamily, she asked, "You were holding back?" 

 With a growl and a fierce expression, he pulled her legs over his shoulders, shoving himself into her body quickly, over and over again, as deeply as he could go.  She cried out at the new angle of penetration, realising just how vulnerable she was in this position.  This was amazing.  She felt like she was being totally used, in the best way possible.  His eyes were slammed shut, his breathing harsh, and he no longer had any regard for anything other than his own need.

 With a hoarse cry, he stilled completed inside her.  Then she felt it.  His orgasm.  How surreal!  She felt his cock throb inside her, releasing his seed, pulsating just as she had felt her own muscles do.  A gentle vibration, which she knew did not feel gentle at all whilst it occurred.  She marveled at it all…the look of pained ecstasy on his face, the way his arms shook to support himself. 

 The way he crashed atop her moments later, still buried deeply, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck like that same big cat.

 Or like a baby. 

* * *

 "See?" he said when he could finally speak again.  He lay on his back, holding her against his sweaty chest, not at all as bothered by his sudden need for closeness as he probably should have been.  "Completed overrated." 

 She giggled against him, and it only made him hug her closer.  "Yeah," she agreed.  "Completely."  After a moment of silence, she said in a soft voice, "So.  Want to do it again?"

 He laughed.  Honestly laughed.  "Yeah," he replied, kissing her on the temple.  "Give me a minute." 

 "A minute?"  Her hand was already traveling to his cock, and surprisingly, his cock was already starting to stir once again.  "You know, I liked that," she mumbled.

 "Well, I hope so," he deadpanned. 

 "No."  She playfully slapped him on the belly.  "Not just _that_ …. But also… what you said."

 Surely she didn't mean…. "Oh?" he asked, one eyebrow darting up. 

 "And when you…"  Merlin, she was blushing.  After what they'd just done, she was _blushing_.  Damn, but it was adorable.  "Well… I liked it when…"  Her voice dropped even more.  "…when you were kind of rough."  He smiled and glanced over to her closet, where a short line of silk scarves hung by her belts.  With another of his trademark devilish smirks, he replied, " _Did_ you?"

_Finis_


End file.
